


Flowers in the Water

by Hinalilly



Series: Hina's Cheesy Rinharu Week Oneshots [1]
Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Splash Free, Firsts, M/M, Rinharu Week, a flame that kindles in your heart, a sea of light that spreads endlessly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 09:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2647550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinalilly/pseuds/Hinalilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some time after Haruka’s 5th birthday, the water in his dreams suddenly becomes tinted with red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers in the Water

**Author's Note:**

> aka in which Hina tries to write all the prompts at once. Hah!
> 
> And here I thought I would never write Arabian!AU... AND it's the shortest thing I've written yet! It's the magic of Rinharu Week.

Ever since he’s had memory, Haruka has dreamed of water.

Every night, for as long as he can remember, as soon as he closes his eyes, his world becomes enveloped in an endless expanse of blue, the likes of which he has only heard of in the tales and songs passed down in his tribe for generations. Only in his dreams has he ever seen so much water in one single place, bluer and brighter than the elders could have ever put in words or music, surrounding him in perfect silence. Through each dream the dark of the night remains forgotten as light filters gently through the waves, and Haruka merely floats along, wanting nothing but to sink in deeper and deeper, letting himself be carried weightlessly until the morning. Even while the most he’s witnessed during his waking hours is water in cups, pots, vases, and containers, all perfectly rationed and distributed to last, Haruka’s dreams leave him with no lingering feelings of longing nor thirst. He simply dreams of water, above, below, all around him, peaceful and serene, cradling him in his sleep. Haruka can’t quite explain the clarity of his visions, nor confirm their accuracy, but he has never bothered to. It’s something that simply comes naturally to him, something that comes from within, that feels as much a part of himself as his own heart beat does. It’s one of the reasons why Haruka has never found any reason to share his dreams with anyone else—not like there’s many who he could share these dreams with, anyway.

Haruka isn’t a boy of many words, and the games and pranks that other children his age play do nothing but bore him. He prefers to keep to himself, listening to his grandmother’s stories and performing his chores with the minimal amount of effort required, trying to stay away from unwanted social interactions and out of trouble. He rarely talks, rarely smiles, and looks perpetually bored to the outside eye, each and every single one unaware of the vast oceans that dwell inside him. The only thing that can capture Haruka’s attention is the water itself; he lives and breathes a connection with it, and each dream feels like meeting with a close friend, a mentor, a protector, all in one single moment of quiet and calm. So Haruka simply bothers making his way through each day, secretly waiting for the moment when the night falls and he can go back to sleep, the water behind his eyelids, all while doing his best to pay no mind to the increasing mixture of pride and worry in his parent’s eyes and the knowing glances of the a few of the eldest members of the tribe.

Even as a child who’s barely turned five years old, Haruka already knows what’s hidden behind all those stares, and he quietly chooses to ignore it. After all, his mother is one of the most accomplished magicians of the tribe, and for years it has been speculated that when the time comes to make The Journey to the palace, the one chosen to make the trip will be her. It wouldn’t make sense to send off anyone else, after all.

Haruka doesn’t mind living in the desert much. It’s scorching hot more often than not, it’s dusty and dry, the landscape never-changing, but it’s also the place he’s come to know as home, the place he’s become used to, the place where the things he owns and the people he knows both reside. The water provides for them, and they never squander its gifts, living in peace and harmony, never suffering any hunger or thirst. For ages his tribe has travelled the desert, unseen and hidden, protecting their ways and their magic, as well as their sacred connection with the water, undisturbed and free. There is no set route and no destination, just aimless roaming throughout the desert sands, following the stars and the oracle of the water, with no obligations other than to themselves and to the tribe and their ways.

But tradition also dictates that the pact made between the djinn and the water-blessed royal family must be upheld.

The well-being and the survival of all desert dwellers have long since been the will of the water, and as its avatars, the water djinn must answer when the Sultan’s bloodline calls. Every generation, when a new heir takes the throne, the tribe must send off their most powerful magician on a journey to the palace, where they are to place themselves in the care and service of this new ruler, all in the name of the water. Only the Sultan can command the magician to do their bidding, so long as the orders are in the best interests of the people and, ultimately, the water itself. In return, the Sultan cannot bind the magician as a slave, treating them instead as an honored guest, and providing for their every need and desire. It is but a pact based on mutual respect and reverence which, if broken, would shortly spell the doom and complete annihilation of the all peoples of the desert.

At five years old, Haruka isn’t even old enough to attend the elders’ lessons, but he can recite his grandmother’s teachings by heart already, and he is smart enough to know what it means when his mother smiles at him as if her heart was being pulled in two opposing directions. He knows what it means when he catches one of the elders watching him with a curious twinkle in their eye as he stares into a basin full of water. Haruka knows, but he wants none of it; all he wants is to feel the water, drink it, bathe in it, dream of it.

Therefore, Haruka keeps his dreams a secret, because he knows that, should he speak of them, then the eyes placed on him would be more than just a few. And Haruka doesn’t care for traditions nor honor nor the pride of the tribe. He just wants to feel the water.

 

One day, however, the perfect blue of his dreams is disturbed by the tiniest speck of pink.

It’s something that Haruka has never laid his eyes upon before, and the dream ends before he is able to grasp it between his fingers. The sudden intrusion begins repeating itself night after night, and each time Haruka attempts to swim closer towards it, curiosity pulling him from the depths of the water towards the surface. The spot becomes clearer and clearer with each passing night, until Haruka is finally able to distinguish the shape of a single, delicate petal, one fallen from a flower which he doesn’t know, but that begins to haunt his peaceful nights with its pale beauty and its faint fragrance.

Haruka is only five years old when he reaches the surface, the ocean in his dreams and in his heart suddenly depthless against a blinding white sky, and it’s when he finds himself grasping the small petal in his hand tightly that he realizes he’s not alone.

There is another child in his dream, standing a few steps away waist-deep in the water, just like him, skin pale like marble and hair red like a flame burning prouder than the desert sun. The boy looks just as surprised as Haruka himself, staring at him up and down for what seems like an eternity until he graces Haruka with a smile, and even though the shade of his eyes is the most vibrant red than Haruka could have ever imagined, it all falls short to the brightness of his expression.

Haruka knows all about his tribe’s teachings and stories. He doesn’t mind living in the desert, if it means being free from the chains that a life at the palace would place around his arms and feet. He is content with just feeling the water, and there is nothing his heart desires as long as he can drink it during the day and bask in it during the night. But when this mysterious boy extends his hand to him, somehow both inviting and challenging at the same time, Haruka feels the foundations of his world crumbling beneath his feet, the current pushing him and pulling him towards a world of white and blue and red, the scent of the pink flower filling his mind.

Haruka wakes up before their fingertips can touch.

But, just like that, lying in bed wide-eyed and with his hand still unconsciously stretched out, he knows.

That morning, for the first time, under the unforgiving rising sun and to the sounds of the nomad djinn tribe slowly coming to life for another day, Haruka sets his eyes on the horizon.

There is a shade of red brighter than the morning glow out there, and Haruka wants it to fire his heart up one more time.

The desert and the water alone are no longer enough.


End file.
